‘I am afraid I must interrupt the interview, Mrs. Banneret,’ said a low, carefully modulated voice, as, after premonitory tapping, the slender, graceful form of Nurse Lilburne entered the room; ‘but, with apologies to you, Dr. Horton cautioned me against the danger of over-fatigue or excitement at meeting you. I feel certain you will pardon me. We have to be so careful against the chance of a relapse.’

‘I will pardon everything, and only wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the care you have taken, and the saving of my husband’s life. I shall never forget it, believe me. We shall both cherish you as a valued friend to the end of our days. And now, I will say good-bye. I suppose I may come again in the evening?’

‘Oh, certainly!—I can depute some of my duties to you with safety, at this stage.’

. . . . . . . . .

From that day it may easily be understood that the patient’s convalescence steadily advanced, that his progress in health was comparatively rapid. His strength, indeed, took longer to build up than he imagined would be the case. After leaving his [113] ]bed for the first time he could not walk without support, and even dressing had to be effected by easy stages. However, if the progress of gaining strength was slow, it was sure, and before the month was out he was, to use the common phrase, ‘a new man.’

Then he was able to be driven round the field by his wife—to observe, and, in a sense, to enjoy the unfamiliar points of this most extraordinary region—surely one of the most amazing storehouses of the Golden Lure ever unearthed by civilised man. Though the soil was barren and rock-strewn, the rainfall scanty and uncertain, the heat of midsummer terrific, the miners had already made pathetic, not wholly unsuccessful efforts to establish gardens—a few vegetables, and the commoner sort of flowers, carefully watered, repaid their pains. Even the desert shrubs and wild flowers were heedfully transplanted, and in many instances embellished the humble homes, temporary though they might be, which sprang up in the wilderness. In some instances, where the ground was apparently all rock, holes and excavations had been blasted out and filled with alluvial, wherein the bulbs and roots put forth their shoots.

Nor was the goldfield, now so populous, and with a reputation which had been bruited over the Anglo-Saxon world, deficient in what was known as ‘society people.’ Not to mention the Honourable Mr. This and Lord John That, who had taken up their abode there—there were dozens of scions of well-known families from the eastern [114] ]colonies, who had not only come to take a hand in the game of Golden Hazard, here played for such alarming stakes—but who had brought their wives.

These ladies, who had heard of Mrs. Banneret, and sympathised with her in her husband’s dangerous illness, ‘called upon her,’ as the conventional phrase runs, which visits had, of course, to be returned. So that she found herself soon provided with a large and congenial visiting-list.

‘Really, I quite begin to like this place,’ she said to her husband one day, when they were driving home in the cool of the evening from a centre a few miles distant from Pilot Mount, where they had heard of the presence of an old friend; ‘and what a nice pony this is—quite a pleasure to drive her. The roads are so good too. Very different country from poor old Barrawong, with its box forests, and our good, clean, dear bungalow, with the old, old garden, and the dear river. Fancy a river here! The young people get to like it, I suppose—though this cemetery has a list of young—ah! such young inmates, I can’t bear to think of it. Sons and brothers, wives and husbands who will never go back! It is too dreadful.’

‘You must endeavour not to think of it, dear,’ he said softly. ‘You will be able to take me back, that is one comfort. And as the mine is doing so well—better than well—phenomenally, I think—mind you—only think—we may be able to go east, as they say here, by the mail steamer after the next. And if the “Last Chance” keeps up its [115] ]present, or probable output—we shall not return, but leave the working of it, and all business that hangs thereby, to our partners and the other shareholders.’